


carve your feelings onto my heart

by incandescence



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP, Johnny's Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Superpowers, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-06-29 14:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19831912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incandescence/pseuds/incandescence
Summary: “It’s got to be me,” Ryosuke decides, and Yuto feels a spike of fear he hasn’t felt in years. "Who else will it be?"It's the hardest thing Yuto's ever done in his life.





	carve your feelings onto my heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chocolatecrack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolatecrack/gifts).



> Dear [chocolatecrack](/users/chocolatecrack), this is not quite the amnesia fic you requested but I really hope you enjoy it. ♥
> 
> It took a legendary team of people to turn this fic around. Shout out to [alchemicink](/users/alchemicink) for asking exactly the right questions needed to spark the final edits, and [dusk037](/users/dusk037) for her patience, unwavering faith, and calm suggestions. ♥

One hundred and eighteen days into captivity, Yamada Ryosuke breaks out of the enemy headquarters by taking down his captors one by one and undoing the puzzle locks with his brilliant mind. 

Halfway across the country, Nakajima Yuto and a conference room full of other agents watch with bated breath as footage of the man fleeing a domed steel compound is live streamed from a helicopter.

And then, the country erupts into chaos.

  


➰

  
Yuto is assigned to clean up duty, which is probably for the best. Right now, it’s easier to focus on putting criminals to sleep with a methodical wave of a hand. Later, he will deal with the consequences of it all, but today, he is a machine.

 _One. Two. A third, trying to flee around the corner._ That one he keeps awake, putting pressure on his mind until he buckles and hits the floor with a satisfactory _thud_.

Yuto feels a vicious sense of exultance as he latches handcuffs onto quaking wrists, stalking through the remaining chaos with a cold, sweeping gaze.

_This is for Ryosuke, you bastards._

They will wake up once they’re in prison, and find out that the remaining branches of the syndicate that are scattered around the country have all been shut down too. They will have nothing left, and they will know how it feels.

He’s leading a balding, blubbering asshole out to the van when he passes a room. Stark white walls, a door missing from its hinges, and a single blanket folded neatly on the ground. The sight makes Yuto tighten his grip on the chains, relishing the touch of cool metal within his grasp. His knuckles turn white. A cry of pain. He sneers, and yanks on the shackles even harder.

Justice is sweet, but vengeance is better.

  


➰

  
They find him quick enough, through the tracking the device Ryosuke insisted on installing himself with gritted teeth and half a bottle of alcohol. They use a memento from Yuto to gain his trust and reaffirm identities, then set him up on the outskirts of Wakayama where he’s overseen by Takaki, ex-agent-turned-bar-owner with a penchant for taking in strays.

No distractions. And no deadlines. Bordering on a vacation, but with the question of _how long_ hanging unspoken in the air.

Yuto will not— _no, cannot_ —give up hope.

He takes leave as soon as he’s given clearance to. That is to say, after the revolving door of people needed to evaluate Ryosuke’s physical, mental and emotional state (doctor, psychologist, the three Chiefs and their dog is what it seems like) deem him stable enough to handle a visit from someone who is ‘compromised.’ It takes so long that Yuto is practically chomping at the bit during yet another run-down from the goddamn doctor, and it takes every ounce of self control inside him to not lash out.

Yuto knows the fucking drill, does he not? He doesn’t need to be told what to say, or not to say. Has he not proven himself to be impartial when the situation calls for it?

But this is no ordinary situation. Tuesday morning sees Yuto packing just a backpack, and boarding the next bullet train and another two buses to get to a little cottage on a beach, where all traces of anger fade away the instant the door is opened.

  


➰

  
“I’ve seen you before,” Ryosuke says, his words slow and halted, as though he has just woken from a nap, and not that extracting a thread of information from next to nothing is a laborious effort. “I don’t remember your name. But I’ve seen you in my dreams.”

Yuto wills himself to keep a straight face. Their weeks and months of heated arguments and long discussions; maps, charts and contingency plans, has prepared him for this. They knew this would happen. And he is the master of his emotions.

“It’s Yuto. Nakajima Yuto.” His voice cracks slightly on delivery. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” Ryosuke says, the epitome of politeness, a small incline of his head. And while there’s something in his serenity that is a ghost of a previous Ryosuke, there is an aura of defeat that makes it all wrong. This Ryosuke is all skin and bones; a sallow complexion in place of a healthy glow. There’s something in his eyes that looks so haunted that it hurts Yuto to meet them.

Yuto’s Ryosuke was never like this.

The months and months of waiting and watching has now culminated in a moment of clarity Yuto didn’t know he was looking for. And it is this: that what’s left of his heart may break into pieces, like the punchline of a bad practical joke.

  


➰

  
The next time, Ryosuke actually offers up a half-smile, in between pouring two cocktails and mixing a third. Thankfully, he’s been eating better and it shows in the way his buttoned-up shirt no longer swallows him up, but has something to cling to. His hair hasn’t been cut yet — Yuto’s fingers itch with the urge to do it himself, just like old times.

He resists. His golden hair is tied with a ribbon, but there’s a loose strand that needs to be tucked away.

Again, Yuto resists.

“They told me it’ll feel like waking up from a really long dream,” Ryosuke says, putting the shaker down, referring to senior staff, fanatic about process and procedure maintaining contact protocol. “That because so many memories were repressed, they’ll return in bits and pieces.”

Not trusting himself to speak, Yuto nods. He doesn’t say that they delved so far into the limbic system that there’s a microscopic chance that Ryosuke’s memories _won’t_ come back.

He needs to be strong. He needs to believe, because Ryosuke would. 

But Yuto isn’t Ryosuke, and doesn’t know how to turn on optimism at will. So instead, he pretends that everything is fine. That he is fine, and every wavering thought; every wavering feeling gets shoved into a box: sealed and hidden in the corner of the basement.

More than once, he wishes he never agreed to the plan.

  


➰

  
Years of over-allocated resources, false leads and new umbrella organisations cropping up is enough for the Eternal Sun network to be at the top of every monthly agenda for three long years. Meeting after meeting, thirty of the country’s best minds come together to attempt the puzzle, but stumble into roadblocks one after the other.

Until an intelligence sweep reveals the new, tentative venture into human trafficking, and only then are they able to get the ball rolling.

This is what they’ll need for stage one: A diversion. A hostage swap. A computer whiz and an illusion powerful enough to cover their escape. Stage two will require four months of patience, speedy transmission, and agents dispatched across the land, all ready to strike.

And throughout all of this? Impeccable timing, and unwavering faith.

Hit headquarters where it hurts, and cause a domino effect.

  


➰

  
It worked a charm.

If these were the old days, the old team would gather together, celebrating their win over wine and champagne. Regale each other with stories in the office, and take pride in their life’s calling. But this is not the old days, and the stories are nothing more than hushed whispers behind hands, and concerned gazes around cubicles. If these were the old days, Ryosuke would be receiving a medal and waving off praises sung his way with a humble shake of his head.

Right now, Ryosuke is an outsider until conscripted back into the bureau, and until then, company regulations prohibit any kind of data exchange.

Yuto knows, perhaps more than anybody, how this works. Cases and stories of people going mad; warnings from mentors in hushed tones. He hears Ryosuke’s voice in his head telling him to _stick to the plan_.

Patience has never been his forte.

And anyway, he’s seen the photos. Seen the scars on his chest and cheek; the bruises dotting his neck and wrists. The criss-cross pattern etched into his back. 

At night, Yuto has fever dreams about his Ryosuke locked in an underground stronghold, flayed and whipped to an inch of his life, and he fights, and fights, and _fights_ to wake up, and to breathe, and to erase these nightmares from his mind. But when he opens his eyes, all he sees is that final image of Ryosuke; strong and defiant, and guilt washes over him anew.

  


➰

  
They’ve been rehearsing so thoroughly for months—over breakfast, in conferences, while they’re brushing their teeth, and before bed—that Yuto doesn’t think they could make a mistake even if they tried.

But that kind of thinking is dangerous, so he keeps it to himself and voices out step fourteen around his toothbrush, in front of the mirror.

And yet, every day closer to T minus zero sees Yuto filled with rising trepidation and a lump forming in his chest. He forces it down; lifts another set of weights, practises his precision exercises, and tries not to think about the obvious. That it’s the first time they’ve planned to leave a building with one less person than they entered with. That this might fail, and it will all have been a waste. That he is scared, for both the boy who will remain, and the boy who will wait, whether or not there will be anything to wait for.

  


➰

  
“The beach we went to,” Ryosuke says suddenly, making Yuto stop dead in his tracks. “There was a seagull, and you dropped the chips. But I remember it because we took a walk to see the sunset, and our feet got wet, and…,” his face turns pink and he doesn’t go on.

Yuto’s insides have liquified and his legs are jelly, but all of it takes a backseat to the way Ryosuke is looking at him: earnest, spirited and full of hope.

  


➰

  
“What do you mean, everything?” Yuto roars, incensed. This was not part of the plan. Lately it seems that _nothing_ is part of the plan. It has morphed and twisted so much that it is unrecognisable, and Yuto no longer wants any part of this.

Not when it means… whatever _this_ is. Not when it means the love of his life will have all of his memories removed in a single blow, and willingly get captured across enemy lines. Everything is spiralling out of Yuto’s control.

Ryosuke, ever stubborn, raises his chin in an act of defiance. “The whole point of this is so they can’t access any secrets, Yutti. They will torture me. It _has_ to be everything. You know this.”

Then, softer, because he knows he has won, he adds, “I can’t have them hurting you because of me.”

Even as Yuto’s fists meet the hard surface of the table, he knows that Ryosuke is right—because goddamn he is always right—but it will take many more moons before he will be able to admit it.

  


➰

  
Long before, they speak of retirement — of packing up and moving to the seaside, unfurling out a giant beach towel, sneaking kisses on the sand, and finally learning to swim. Ryosuke’s a big believer in “better late than never.”

In his darkest moments, Yuto, all alone, clings tight to this fantasy; whispers these delusions to the unresponsive ceiling. It is the only thing keeping him from falling to pieces. This, and a matching tattoo representative of two naive, lovestruck boys in less troubled times and subsequently, the ache in his heart that won’t subside.

  


➰

  
“Lunch?” Even to himself, his voice lacks conviction. How is one supposed to court someone for a second time when you can’t be sure how much they remember of the first? Ryosuke had better get his memories back soon because this needs to be a two-man operation, _damn it_.

Still, even after that feeble attempt, Ryosuke nods and accepts the bento handed to him before following Yuto out of the bar.

They choose a bench that overlooks the ocean, sit side by side watching families splashing each other on the shore, and couples sunbathing on deck chairs. It’s so uncomfortably familiar that Yuto just has to open his mouth to say something. _Anything_.

But Ryosuke beats him to it. “The house that we bought. That wasn’t a dream, was it?” It’s more of a statement than a question. 

But Yuto answers anyway, and his heart catches in his throat as he shakes his head. A resounding _no_. A procurement of keys. And a photo tucked into his wallet at all times.

Two beaming figures in front of a beachfront house, blissfully unaware of what happens next.

  


➰

  
They were assigned as a team since before graduating from the training ranks, and they have stayed a team for a good reason. They’ve always worked well together, credited to a similar sense of intuition and the fact that they’re both as stubborn as bulls.

But now they have been fighting for over a week, and it’s thanks to that same stubbornness that neither will cease and desist.

“Why can’t you trust that I can do this?” Ryosuke looks just as weary as Yuto feels. It doesn’t help that three times out of five this week, Yuto has awoken to Ryosuke sleeping on the couch instead of treading upstairs. Apprehension is coiled low and thick in his stomach, and the only way Yuto knows how to cope with it is to shout even louder.

“If they come back—and that’s a big _if_ , they will take a long time.” Yuto says, again, for the millionth time. “I don’t like how the odds are stacked against us.”

 _Desperate times call for desperate measures_ , is the answer Yuto braces himself for because again, they’ve had this conversation for what now feels like an eternity. He shuts his eyes. There was never any question that Ryosuke would go through with this, because Ryosuke is brave, and crazy, and all the things Yuto is not. Which is why Yuto is yelling and raging and _hitting_ for his own sake because the thought of watching from afar while they wait for something that is still an uncertainty, is too much to bear. And the knowledge that if this doesn’t go according to plan, it will all be his fault.

Warm hands reach over to clasp his own. “I will never forget you, Yuto,” is what Ryosuke whispers to him instead, and a tremor wracks his body; a shuddering breath escapes. When he opens his eyes, earnest brown eyes are staring into his own. “You are a part of me. Please, trust me.”

  


➰

  
A signal, and countless assurances of safety measures was what it takes to convince him. Yuto spends the last few weeks drilling in the same coded message into Ryosuke’s brain that essentially boils down to the when, where, and why of his eventual outbreak. It will be the only memory he keeps, and it will be strong enough to hold because it _has_ to be. There is no other alternative.

After the trial, Yuto glares daggers as they’re marched away in handcuffs. It has nothing to do with the verdict, but it does sooth some of the bitter vengeance that is burning in his blood. Had Ryosuke’s instincts not been sharp, or the mission such a resounding success, they’d be witnessing what really happens when Yuto loses his temper.

  


➰

  
Two hundred and thirty one days after his escape, Yamada Ryosuke kisses Nakajima Yuto outside in the rain shower where the waves meet the shore, underneath the luminous glow of the moon.

Yuto has to take a moment to make sure it isn’t all a dream— that the beautiful, golden haired boy is truly in his arms and not a figment of his imagination. He pinches himself, yelps, and allows himself to be pulled back into another kiss with the half-laughing boy.

  


➰

  
He tells himself it’s not a goodbye.

That it’s just for six months.

_It’s not a goodbye._

But when he performs a system reset on the neural pathways in the limbic system, and watches the expression on the boy’s face turn from one of fierce acceptance into confused blankness, it most definitely feels like a goodbye.

 _Wait_ , is the message he sends with everything he’s got. _We’ll give you a signal. Your name is Yamada Ryosuke, and I need you to wait._

The boy crumples to the ground. Yuto turns on his heel, and runs.

  


🌊🌊🌊


End file.
